We continue to showcase to our readers a glimpse of what The Messenger (originally The Georgian Messenger) looked like a 100 years ago. This week, we take a look at a short story written by Domenica Eristavi (better known as her pen-name Gandegili (hermit) that was translated by Elisabeth Orbeliani, the founder and the first Editor-in-Chief of the newspaper. An Interrupted Tale tells a beautiful story of a Khan’s daughter and the slave that shows her a tale full of majestic and enchanting creatures.
Domenica Eristavi, also known as Gandegili, was born in the village of Salominao, Vani district, on 28 October 1864. Her first poem “On Reburial of Baratashvili” was published by Ilia Chavchavadze in the newspaper Iveria in 1893 and he also employed her in the paper for her perfect knowledge of Georgian language. Dominika Eristavi was the first female proofreader. In 1904, she was appointed the editor of the Nobati magazine. Her first collection of short stories published in 1910, her first collection of poems in 1918.
She was one of the founding members of the first Georgian women's organization, the Georgian Women's Society.
Her short story "Marine" (1897) brought her first recognition as an author. She wrote essays, criticism, miniatures, novellas, and humorous pieces. She also translated children's stories and fairy tales as well as works of Heine, Gorkiy, Turgenyev, and Kuprin, among others.
An Interrupted Tale
By Domenica Eristavi
“The story of the birth of the sunflower is as old, o daughter of the Khan, as the sorrow of love, as undying as the sighs of the enamoured, and as burning as Cleopatra's kisses. It is a sad tale, but it is as fair as Leila's grave, as mysterious as our glance at our beloved. Shall I tell it to you?”
“Recount it to me, Ali", - said a young girl softly from the long chair where she was reclining among the trees of the garden, and prepared herself to listen.
The negro slave thus began:
“In a high tower on the shore of the sea was imprisoned a lovely maiden, as fair as the sun. The sea-monster who kept her a prisoner forbade her to gaze upon the rays of the sun, or at the children of men or even to speak at all.
The beautiful maid carried a heart heavy with sorrow and distress as she wandered through the gorgeously ornamented rooms. She felt that she was losing the power of speech, but there seemed to be no hope of deliverance. An army of slaves kept the young beauty prisoner; heavy chains surrounded the tower.
The maiden knew that there existed another country and another sky, but she had never beheld their beauty. Only now and then in the dark of the night did the sea-monster take her down to the little garden, but in the daytime, her sky was the dark vault of the tower. And so the years passed on.
One morning as she was working, a wonderful thing struck the girl's eye. Through the window-pane inserted in the wall high overhead, the sun was glimmering, and through the broken piece of glass, no bigger than the kernel of a hazel-nut, she cried out to the sun. It was her first greeting to the suns splendor, and likewise her first hymn of love.
The eunuch who was guarding the tower heard her heavenly voice, went cautiously up to the tower, and with a palpitating heart opened the door of the room where the beautiful prisoner was, then stood stunned with surprise, for flooded with inspiration the girl was singing the hymn of love.
The fearful suffering of the young eunuch showed itself in his face. He cried out from the pain: then moans of despair burst from his heart, and, livid with despair, he fell to the ground. The lovely maid sped to his side like a deer, cast her arms around him, and in a divine murmur whispered to him love's eternal song, but it was too late: the poor slave's soul had departed.
The enraged monster cast into the sea the lifeless body of the eunuch and with it the beautiful maid as well with such force that the waves parted and a little island appeared. On this island there sprang from the ground a round-faced flower with a broken heart – a heart full of darkness, but as golden as the sun itself, a flower in love with the sun – the sun-flower. The waves surrounded the lovely plant: they shook off some of its petals and strewed them broadcast over the world as a deathless symbol of the longing of love.
The sun-flower soon blossomed everywhere all over the earth. It adorned every rich garden, and coupled with its name were those of the two innocent victims - that of the young eunuch and that of the imprisoned maiden. Once upon an autumn evening, the sunflower bent its head, as usual, curled up its petals and went peacefully to sleep. The perfidious moon all of a sudden sent forth such brilliant rays of light that the flower woke, thinking it was the sun, and, poor thing, opened its heart for very joy. The next day the glowing sun saw its heart already open, while the moon, like a thief, vanished into space.
Full of shame, the flower would not look at her beloved giver of life: it withered wizened and fell, and the gardener cast it forth. For a long time nowhere in the world was the sun-flower to be seen. Only on the little island, it blossomed as the immortal monument of undying truth. Once a powerful wave swept up to the flower, bending it so low that it touched the water. A mermaid swam towards it and buried her face in its heart, and as soon as it felt the presence of a living being, such a heavenly melody burst forth from the flower's heart that the foam-covered sea stood still to listen to it – the sun-flower was singing the hymn of love, and the mermaid learnt from it her enchanting songs.
The mountain fairy heard that voice and could not remain at peace. Changing into a butterfly, she flew to the sea-shore. The sun-flower was singing, and the siren, daughter of the waves, united her voice to its song. The fairy, hitherto always playful and always gay, felt for the first time the vanity of her past days. Like a burning arrow dragged forth from a wound, the solitary soul was freed from its pain at the sound of these melodies. The mountain fairy could not endure the beauty of that song, and, melting into tears, she threw herself on the sand and sank into an eternal sleep.
The sea glided up to her like a serpent, caressed her golden hair as it lay strewn over the sand, gathered up the fay's tears, which were like unto diamonds, pressed her to its breast and surrounded her with a wall which no foe might conquer. Her tears were the first tears of the soul's loneliness and received the name of the solitary pearl. Men sought those treasures in the sea but could cast no treasures so fair into it. The tears of lovers are no longer so frequent, and the sea is gradually losing its pearls. Today they are hard to find, o daughter of the Khan! Who knows if the pearl pin at your breast is not a heart in pain?” - said the young slave respectfully as he ceased his story.
The Khan's daughter was sobbing...
In the silence of the night the muezzin's voice peeled forth like a bell. It was summoning all true Muslims to the morning namaz. On the court of the mosque the aged Khan and his courtiers were devoutly praying, but the negro slave Ali was nowhere to be seen. At this very same moment he was singing the hymn of love to the Khan's daughter, and that hymn was the most beautiful psalm spoken by the lips of Allah; it was the mysterious prayer of the gods; it was the divine greeting to the rising sun.
